Seafront

Here like the maze of our bewilderment

the thorn-crowned wire spreads high along the shore,

and flowers with rust, and tears our common sun;

and where no paths of love may reach the sea

the shut sands wait deserted for the drowned.

On other islands similarly barbed

mankind lies self-imprisoned in his fear,

and watches through the black sights of a gun

the winging flocks of migratory birds

who cannot speak of freedom, yet are free.